


Make A-cups Great Again

by theway



Category: Original Work
Genre: 2010s, Actors, Age Difference, Age Play, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Asian Character(s), Ass Play, Australia, Bigotry & Prejudice, Black Character(s), Bodily Fluids, Censorship, Corruption, Creampie, Cross-Generation Relationship, Crushes, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Underage, F/M, Fangirls, Firsts, Inflation, Interracial Relationship, Large Cock, Lolicon, Loss of Virginity, Modern Era, Moral Bankruptcy, Older Man/Younger Woman, One Shot, Oneshot, Orgasm, Pedophilia, Police, Politics, Porn, Porn actors, Rimming, Sexual Frustration, Size Kink, Stomach Bulging, Stomach Deformation, Underage Sex, Urination, Virginity, porn industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8927209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theway/pseuds/theway
Summary: The Rudd Government ruined Jess' career and fun because they hate A-cups. Now it's the year of our Lord 2016 and she's hatched her master plan to stick it to the Man. Step one: get her trusted friend and colleague to think of the children… a bit too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ONLY YOU can look at the tags to avoid squicks. _This work is not Bananas in Pyjamas_! Also, it parodies some real life controversy regarding [Australia and small breasts](http://skeptics.stackexchange.com/questions/15790/did-australia-ban-small-breasts-pornography). Shoutouts to [a flamewar on the AO3 news section](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/78880643). PS: I know fuck all about Straya; tear me apart in the comments. I apologise for not posting this on 26 January, so please imagine I did.
> 
> If you comment (THANK YOU), I guarantee you'll receive a response (though you can't be notified without an account). Please send your rant, praise, question, idea, prompt, fandom, or favourite emoji. Or just chillax, I dunno. Lastly, I'm experimenting with an RSS feed so people without AO3 accounts can receive update notifications; you can let me know if that works out.
> 
> This work is an oneshot, so it won't receive updates. To receive notifications about new works and chapters, you can subscribe to [this RSS feed](https://vas.neocities.org/etc/ao3_works_feed.xml) or [my profile](/users/theway).

“Line ’em up, line ’em up,” the officer ordered, disgust and condescension obvious to everyone in hearing range. It felt like the inspections were getting more frequent recently, and more annoying. Jayden sometimes wondered whether the State had it in for them, doing everything to get the whole damn industry shut down.

Still, they “lined up” as ordered. Some of them hadn’t had much time to put clothes on, so this was one of the messier “lineups”; bed hair, shirts worn backwards, and a toga made out of bed sheets. It looked bad, though there had been instances in the past that flirted with the very edges of propriety. After all, this was a porn set.

“Alright, let’s see what you perverts are up to…,” the officer mumbled, beginning the inspection from right to left. He ignored Jayden; in fact, he ignored all the men, which was usual. If you’d asked a lawyer, that shouldn’t have happened, but in practice everybody knew the guidelines had mostly women in mind, plus most inspectors weren’t exactly open to having dong so close to their faces, especially if it belonged to a well-endowed black guy.

The procedure was the same for all actresses: first, he grabbed their heads, turning them around to inspect facial features. Then he inspected their privates, undressing them as needed; breasts, vulvae, and anuses, ensuring hair growth and shape were within acceptable parameters. The window grew tighter regularly, as the instances that just barely passed were constantly under threat by regulators milking moral panic for votes.

Jayden found a certain irony in how intentionally insulting and dehumanising the process was. The inspector manhandled and groped the subjects, all the while humming or sighing in a bitter tone. He did everything he could to communicate that everyone involved was beneath him; that they were disappointments as people, as members of the civilised world.

It was never made explicit, as that would be “sexual harassment”. Nevertheless, the police had always had a certain leeway with the law that normal people couldn’t afford to, literally so. Deep down, Jayden knew the sick bastards enjoyed it. Like the man standing before them now, they were all morbidly obese, unkempt bastards. Porn set inspectors were a basket of psychopaths with a god complex.

They were the worst type of people one could come across. He understood why they were so obsessed with establishing their authority: the women they dealt with were way out of their league. They’d sooner fuck a hobo than one of them. He knew that in their heart of hearts their insecurities ate away at their souls—probably why they had none—and they wanted to drag everybody down to their level.

The whole thing took fifteen or twenty minutes in total. When it was over, the inspector took off his pair of plastic gloves and threw them in the trash. “Careful with that war paint,” he pointed out to Jess, the director, pressing a finger against his cheek for emphasis. “We wouldn’t want to give the _wrong messages_.”

“Of course, sir,” she responded, choking the urge to snap back at him.

Another surprise visit, another ruined shot. It would take at least an hour to get everything back in place, and to fix everybody’s mood. Sometimes, Jayden got this thought, this thing that kept repeating in his head and wouldn’t get out: he imagined pushing one of those hamplanets down, and punching him until there was nothing left of his skull but a bloody pool and pieces that vaguely resembled brains.

* * *

“…and then he told me that if I wanted respect, I should stop cucking the nation with nigger dick.”

“What a fucking cunt!”

“I know, right? It’s a miracle we lasted as long as we did.”

When Jess was feeling down, she needed to blow off some steam over scotch and verbal shitposting in her house. She and Jayden were the only two of the Old Boys’ club that still hung around. They used to do shots together, but she had to retire to director duty cause there was no way she could act and not get everyone in jail in the current year.

The establishment of the new regulations had to be the worst period in her life. She was constantly shitfaced; hell, she was bordering on alcoholic by the end of it. Everyone had expected the bill wouldn’t pass, couldn’t pass, but then again, they also expected their MPs to actually have brains. And just like that, overnight, “small breasts” were banned in Australian porn.

Some people took it harder than others. As for Jess, she tried everything she could to stop it from happening, and then undoing the damage. She went right, and argued about personal freedoms and government overreach. She went left, and argued about sexual liberation and criminalising body types. She heard vague talking points on public decency, objectification, and paedophilia. Frankly, it was mostly paedophilia.

When the Parliament heard the p-word, they collectively lost their heads. They had some sort of contest on who would bend over backwards the most to ensure no paedo survived in this fine country. Anything resembling a child had to be removed from porn or fashion, for it might inspire an idiot to rape their cousin.

For every scandal or shitty policy that betrayed their voting base, they tried getting some back by appealing to paedoparanoia—and it was working. Clear skin, hairless skin, skinny or short women, and especially those under 35 could potentially arouse paedophiles, so they had to go. Inspections were carried out randomly and without warning to ensure nothing illegal was filmed, and the precise definitions of legality grew ever more demanding with each court ruling.

Some could get away with getting some breast implants, but others, like Jess, would have to endure bone reconstruction and mainlining testosterone to be up to spec. She’d actually considered it when it had all started, and hated herself for it. Throughout her life, she’d never felt ashamed of her body, except for the past six years. She’d always been proud of her Taiwanese heritage, until her university friends started undermining her most visceral identity, her physical existence, to liberate women from the shackles of objectification.

“It just pisses me off, you know? That’s the third time it’s happened this year, and it’s always the same crap. They try to pussyfoot around it, but I know what they really think.”

“Fuck ’em. You’re too tolerant of these people. You need to be straight up, brutal. If they can’t deal, they can fuck off. If they get mad at you, give them something to be _really_ mad at.”

Jess’ relationships had been a mess. Her husband and the boyfriends after him all left her because they “felt awkward” around her. They wouldn’t say it outright, but she knew what their real problem was: they didn’t want their coworkers to insinuate they were paedophiles. They were looking to climb the corporate ladder and, well, one unfounded complaint to the HR department and it would all be over.

The child support and her day job were enough to raise her daughter, thought she hated bringing up a child in this kind of society. She was a smart one; what if she got into uni and a sociologist drilled into her head that her very body was the manifestation of internalised misogyny and paedo culture, the symbol of centuries of rape-powered selective breeding of neonate features? Jayden had it rough as unconventional black guy before, but now he considered himself lucky not having to deal with that hogwash.

“Sometimes…” She weighed her words, turning her head away and staring at a wall. “Sometimes I feel like that, yeah. You know?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s, like… I’ve been good, tried not to be a stereotype. They’ve always said shit about us, what’s it like doing it. But I never acted up, never went off.”

He wondered whether he should say something, but it felt like there was more to her rant, and didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts. She was drunk, but she had something to get out of her chest.

“So sometimes, I just wanna fuck with them. Like, I don’t care what happens or if everyone loses. I just wanna piss them off. Even if they never find out, I like picturing their faces, you know, in my head, contorting in disgust, cause I’m doing something bad.”

“Are you my spirit animal?” he joked, summoning chuckles from them both. The conversation had grown a bit too depressing and serious; perhaps this would cheer her up.

Jess downed what whisky remained in her glass and rocked the ice around, taking pleasure in the finality. It was probably best to call it quits now; there was work to be done tomorrow.

“Do you think they actually believe any of this?” she asked.

Jayden shrugged. “I dunno,” he said, finishing off his own drink. “They seem earnest. Actually raging and all.”

“I bet that when they’re all alone in their dead bedrooms, they get off on all the wild shit they’ve been banning, or worse.”

“Do you think they even have libidos?”

“Oh, man, if you’d seen the things I’ve seen… Just…” She reached for her back pocket, taking out her phone. She got off her chair and sat on his right on the couch. “I know this makes me a nosy helicopter parent and all, but I’ve found Ayla’s Instagram, and you wouldn’t _believe_ the things in it.”

Ayla, Jess’ daughter, was a perplexing case. Her awareness of her mother’s day job was hotly speculated. On the one hand, she was 9, which wasn’t that young. On the other hand, she was only 9, so it ought to fly over her head. Then again, if she was anything like her mother…

“Take a look at this,” she said, leaning closer to him so that the display was in common view. “Quarter of a million followers, and she’s been on it for, like, what, a year? Two, tops? That’s way more than mine!” She tapped on one of the photos to put the comments in view. “I used to tell myself it was cause she’s cute, but some of the comments make that _really_ hard to swallow.”

She… had a point, and one needn’t read a single comment to figure that out. Jess was reasonably attractive, as would be expected by a porn star, and her husband hadn’t been bad-looking either. It stood to reason Ayla had lucked in some high quality genes; though, really, it didn’t take much to look cute at that age.

Now, as for making 250 thousand people masturbate furiously thinking of you…

Really, it made Jayden feel awkward; possibly the most awkward he’d been since applying for a position on a porn set. But Jess sat right next to him, and who knew how she would react if he averted his gaze and she took it the wrong way, especially in her state.

So he looked, even against his better judgement. Ayla was a very pretty girl: symmetrical features, large brown eyes, her short black hair in the only French bob cut that actually looked decent in this decade. In any other situation, those features would stand out enough on their own. Browsing her Instagram, however, they were drowned out by her penchant for flaunting her bare, somewhat tanned, untarnished smooth skin.

The temperature of the country excused much, but this was way beyond the pale. To start with, she was very bottom-heavy, which was highly unusual. Heck, the effect was magnified given her age; she was flatter than the “performances” Jayden had had the displeasure of seeing first hand, except for her hips and thighs, which were much wider than her shoulders. It wasn’t that she was fat either: in all respects she was a skinny girl, it was just her lower half that was thick and plump and erotic. Her racial makeup was a total mess three generations down the line, and boy was it an alluring mess.

Jess prodded him with her shoulder. “Is she firing you up, big boy?” she teased him. Or did she? “I knew there was something about you. Why, every time we shot together…”

“Oh, come on now,” he said, laughing the comment off. “Get her to deactivate the account, or at least take it down a notch. It’s surprising some of that stuff has stayed up for that long.”

“You think _that’s_ bad?” she said, flipping through more pics, making sure to linger on all the more risqué ones.

Not only was Ayla’s development titillating, she was also becoming aware of it: her photos focused on her assets like they were shot by Jess herself. There were lots of skimpy clothes and thighs on display, to say nothing of her rear end. Occasionally, her underwear bordered on a thong—where would she even get such a thing? Once, he could’ve sword he could make out her pucker.

“My little girl is growing up so fast!” Jess exclaimed. Jayden couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic, happy, or sad. “Then again, I wasn’t much older when I first, you know… And we didn’t even have internet back then.”

He probably should’ve said something, but nothing would come up. Instead, he stayed silent, letting a long, awkward gap grow between them, waiting to be filled with taboo propositions.

“It’d be a shame if she didn’t get to enjoy her youth cause a bunch of old grouches in office are insecure about their sexualities,” she continued.

Somewhere deep down, perhaps he knew the direction the conversation was heading, but didn’t want to admit it. Maybe he wanted to believe it was merely the alcohol that had dulled his senses, so he didn’t stop it when he should have had.

“She’s a big fan, you know. She’s seen all our old stuff.” The smirk on her face was unmistakable; he’d seen that same expression a hundred times. It might have been six years since they did anything together, but that was something he’d only forget in his grave. “If you want to, we could… set something up. Think about it.”

“Jesus Christ Jess, the booze has got to you.”

She didn’t respond for some time, seemingly processing his objection. “Yeah, I guess so…,” she said, awkwardly rubbing her neck. “Maybe we should call it a night, huh?”

After tucking the big baby in, he got an Uber drive home; he was in no condition to drive himself, and he needed some time to digest what had happened. Jess wasn’t a stranger to talking out of her arse if she was high or drunk—that was part and parcel of the personalities in her line of work—but still. Offering her own daughter for sex? She wasn’t even in the double digits yet! That was just… unthinkable.

He thought of the unthinkable, her words staying with him: “Think about it.” Three blasted words.

* * *

Those words became a million thoughts; thoughts Jayden couldn’t let go of. In the beginning, he thought it was the shock of it—post traumatic stress and whatnot—but his excuses grew less convincing by the day.

The first round revolved around Jess, what she had said, and how revolting she had to be to say those things. He questioned her as a friend, questioned his ability to discern friends, even. What kind of person hangs around creeps so tragically immoral they’d even prostitute their own children to get back at “society”? How did the company he kept reflect on him?

Afterwards, he moved on to the photos and the comments he’d read. Were there really that many people like that in the world? Did they really leer at a young child with lust? Perhaps he’d misremembered them, or perhaps his judgement was impaired that night.

We went back to check. That’s what he liked to tell himself. He went back to check, so that he could be sure that he read everything right. He couldn’t live without knowing for sure; it turned his world upside down, suspecting that everything he knew about people was untrue. He always mocked the paranoia of public officials—seeing paedophiles everywhere—but now he shared it. The police, the press correspondent, the passers-by in the street; everyone an Instagram picture away from wanting to bone a kid.

He didn’t notice how often was checking Ayla up. Worse yet, he didn’t notice what it did to him. It was very subtle at first; some unsatisfied urge, some faint libido, tiny yet present. It was almost nothing to begin with, an itch he wouldn’t scratch or even recognise. It didn’t take long, but the itches piled up, accumulated, and gnawed at him.

It had been a long time since he last enjoyed his job, far too long. Longer than six years, though those had been the most taxing. He wasn’t in any professional danger—he doubted anyone _larger_ than him would show up this side of the Pacific in the near future—but the loss of passion was palpable.

So when he started having sexual dreams again, that was a huge surprise to him. Before, Ayla only disturbed his waking moments, and only when he chose to. At some point, he started dreaming of her forbidden body and all the things he wanted to do to it, but every time he moved in for a touch, or to get something going, he was pulled out of dreamspace.

The second week after that night with Jess, he’d grown obsessed with Ayla, and there was no denying it. He’d show up at work and get going on another set, and couldn’t help but contrast his reality against his desires. What she had said that night about “what a shame” it would be if nobody got to “enjoy her”—he kind of got it now. It wasn’t polite to admit it, but he understood.

Every day he’d get to fuck a woman way past her prime. Even if there were no laws crippling them, there was only so much the make-up artists, the lighting, and medical technology could do to hide the marks of decay. That was just the nature of things.

He’d be fucking yet another generic MILF’s well-used, hairy arse, and he’d think: what if there were no limits? What if Ayla was before him instead, with that contradictory body of hers? Skinny, yet fleshed out; flat and immature, yet curvy and growing. Instead of sagging, orange-textured skin, he could be dealing with untouched, velvety perfection. Would he even fit in her? She’d sent his sexuality on a roller coaster ride, not knowing whether to love her as an adult or as a child.

Some of the strongest orgasms in his life were had along those lines, and his excitement was at its zenith. His poor partners, they all probably thought they were doing something exceptional to get him off so hard. If only they knew…

On the internet there was no shortage of people bragging about what the youngest they’d done was. Some of the numbers were really low, disturbingly low. Whatever it was the laws were trying to prevent, it clearly was not working. Everyone seemed to have worked it out in private. The only thing his conformity signalled was his own willingness to be a sheep with no standards.

The way this was going, how would it end? If people found out what was done to their daughters—what their daughters were inviting to be done to them—there would be even more public outrage, and Jayden’s industry would no doubt take more hits. Give it a few years and fucking anyone who hasn’t hit menopause yet will be illegal, while the rest of society has free reign, because they don’t have their intercourse under a spotlight.

If everything he did was child abuse, and everyone he liked was paedophilia, then what was the point of avoiding those labels? Every living male was a paedo, so that word lost sway over him. He might as well follow his instincts, since public morality was so out of touch with reality. Society wasn’t serving him, so he would flip it off.

The next time he met Jess, he said the magic words: “I’ve thought about it, and…”

* * *

A long while back, Jess used to visit Taiwan once a year to see her grandparents and to fuck around in Comic World. It was the only way for her to legally indulge in her fetish: really large men fucking young girls. Of course, that was all kinds of illegal in the great liberal nation of Australia, but that didn’t stop her from bringing some of the goods back with her. It wasn’t very likely that customs would want to go through her underwear to find illegal smut.

Nothing got her going quite like a girl that had barely hit puberty, if even that, discovering her inner slut and trying to fit adult cock inside her. She’d lost count of the times she’d masturbated to the same fantasy, reading through the same comic books.

Unfortunately, it seemed like everything around her was conspiring against her enjoying a mere fantasy. She couldn’t buy it, browse websites featuring it, she couldn’t even talk about it. It was impossible to shoot sets with it; every loophole was eliminated and then some, until her mere physical existence was outlawed for being too politically incorrect.

She knew that somewhere out there, there was a gigantic pile of the greatest porn known to man, stored in a server she wasn’t allowed to access and didn’t have the technical know-how to work around the restrictions securely. That knowledge, that mystery of a forbidden unknown so close yet always out of sight drove her nuts.

Considering the reason behind their divorce was her husband’s anxiety around paedophilia, she obviously couldn’t enjoy it in private. She had been tempted to cheat on him, at least until the few BDSM communities tolerating it were forced to comply or legislated away. Her relationships after that were no better, every person preferring the coddling of their fears to the catharsis of overcoming them.

She thought about what could’ve been if she were given free reign, if prudes and erotophobes didn’t run the country. She would’ve been _great_ at it. She was perfectly built for the role, and had no problems acting out the vilest things; in fact, she enjoyed them. She would’ve been the best in her category, and her productions would sell like hot cakes. She would go down in history as the queen of her niche.

Back in the day, she thought she had friends. She thought she had people who hated government intervention, or people who would bend over backwards for her empowerment. Even if one would betray her, the other wouldn’t; after all, they were in opposite sides of the spectrum! They could never stomach or excuse agreement and cooperation, not on something as far-reaching as this.

She was pissed off. There was no subtlety or nuance around it. She was pissed off that her favourite smut was banned, her favourite artists were in prison, and her community disappeared. And what for? To “save the children”? Last time she checked, hundreds of thousands of men were fantasising about fucking her daughter.

She felt trapped in a web impeding release, blocking out all that was good and beautiful in the world, choking her till it was hard to breathe, and her brain was so starved for air she devolved into a generic, colourless husk of a person, bitter with old age and the regret of lives unlived. She couldn’t allow that to be. She’d sooner die than lose her passion and youthful rebelliousness that made her who she was.

And she wasn’t going to let her daughter end up like her and share her angst. Her best years were behind her; all the years she could reasonably act out her fantasies were gone forever and it was all downhill from here. Ayla was maturing fast, just like she had when she was young, and she wanted to fuck Australia’s largest black man since God knows when. She’d give her the fantasy she could never have herself, and revel in the satisfaction that she was complicit in the ultimate taboo: the scapegoat crime that had destroyed her career and stripped some much warmth from her life.

So the only thing she asked from Jayden was to let her film it. She bought or “borrowed” a number of discreet cameras, and placed them where they wouldn’t get in the way, hoping for even a couple of minutes of good footage. She’d let her ultimate masterpiece film itself.

* * *

Their date was Saturday at noon, Jess’ place. He didn’t know what to expect. He wasn’t gonna lie: he was feeling kind of anxious. He always had some trouble with girls because of his size, and Ayla was way too young. Anything could happen, including horrible emergencies, to say nothing of being found out. As dangerous as it was, or perhaps because of the danger, he couldn’t suppress his excitement, the yearning for something new. After all, it wasn’t every day that one filmed child porn.

He rang the doorbell and was answered by Ayla.

“Hello,” she said, her voice as childishly high-pitched as it ought to be.

“Hey.” He raised his hand in salutation, took off his shoes, and got inside.

The first thing he noticed was how much taller he was. He knew she had to be little over four feet, and he was a giant at 6’2”, but it was an incredible thing to witness in person; her head barely made it to his chest. He was absolutely gigantic in comparison, like if they weren’t even in the same species. 

The second thing was her attire… Damn. She wore some sort of one-piece nightgown in a variation of light pink, and slightly translucent. It rested on her with two shoulder straps, and a frilly cloth was sewn around her chest area so that her nipples wouldn’t show through. But under that, it split, leaving her abdomen and navel exposed, covering only her sides and back. As if that wasn’t enticing enough, the hemline was above her hips, though not by much.

Everything from her waist down was visible. At least she had opaque underwear on—tiny, similarly pink, provocative lingerie he had no idea how she got her hands on—but the rest was bare. People thought she was attractive on Instagram; well, she was on a whole other level in real life. The way her tiny waist contrasted with her child-bearing hips, her full thighs, her toned calves and her cute little feet… He just couldn’t stop staring.

“Well?” she said, crossing her hands behind her. “Do you like how I look?”

“Yes, um—” Jayden was at a loss for words, his perverted fantasies interrupted. “It’s great. I mean, you look amazing up close.”

Ayla giggled. “Come,” she said, turning around and heading towards the living room. He started following her, but he almost fell over because he wasn’t looking at the right place.

Her panties were open back! He could see her arse! Or rather, there was a large, heart-shaped opening in her rear end, decorated with complicated lacing. He could feel her devilish grin, even though he couldn’t see it, but, seriously… That arse. She walked slowly, purposefully, and with exaggerated hip sway, so that he could have a better view of her butt. Dear God, was this girl really 9?

She stopped near the couch, then waved towards it. “Take a seat,” she said, and he obeyed, curious enough to allow her plan to play out, even though he’d love nothing more than to pounce on her and savagely rape her right that moment. After he was on the couch, she sat on his lap, her back towards him, and in perfect position to grind her arse against his groin. Jayden had worn loose-fitting, thin clothes that day, and he wasn’t regretting it one bit.

His hand moved towards her thigh; he couldn’t control it. The moment he touched her, it was like all his wildest dreams turned corporeal at the same time. It was the softest, most beautiful thing he’d touched in years. He couldn’t get enough of stroking its length, feeling her perfect skin against his dark hand. If he had to give everything up—all the women he’d fucked, all the acts he’d performed—just to experience this sensation, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“So, Ayla, I hear you’re a big fan.”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, evidently getting flustered. So there truly was an inexperienced young girl beneath the façade of the ultimate slut.

He placed his other hand on her stomach, and caressed her from under her chest, to her navel, to right above her panties, teasing her with his fingers. She was just as soft there as everywhere else. He could smell her shampoo as she sat on him; a smell exuding flowery immaturity along with the rest of her body.

“I first saw you when I was eight, I think.” Her breathing was becoming heavier, more pronounced. “You were… with my mum. It was very old, before I was born. When I saw what you did, I was… I wanted to feel like that too.”

His touching focused more and more on the area immediately around her crotch, building up her anticipation. But when he tried moving from her thigh to her preteen pussy, she closed her legs and barred him entry.

“In that vid,” she said as she turned around to face him, “you didn’t even touch her pussy once. I was so confused at first—I didn’t know you could put a dick in that hole, and yet…”

She leaned in closer and closer, their faces only separated by a couple of inches. She directed one of his hands to her butt, and that was enough for him to pick up on what she _really_ wanted to do. His other hand joined the first, grabbed the soft flesh of her arse and squeezed.

This was the moment he was dreaming about. He’d lost count of how many times he’d come just thinking about that 9-year-old arse, but it had to be buckets by now. Her buns were as malleable as pillows and had as much material in them as he ever hoped. Resisting the urge to fondle them was such an extreme effort, her teachers might be led to suicide.

He massaged her arse cheeks again and again; he simply couldn’t get enough of them. He then spread them apart and probed her pucker with a finger, like the ultimate pearl inside an oyster. The moment he touched her flesh, Ayla practically collapsed in his arms. Her arsehole was wonderfully textured, slightly moist, and rather inflated in size. He traced circles around it, sending shivers down her spine, enjoying the ridges of her flesh like a Braille dialect, spelling the sins he was committing on her criminally juvenile backdoor.

He inserted his finger inside, and it went in with surprising ease; this clearly wasn’t the first time her anus was receiving attention. Nevertheless, her flesh coiled around the intruder and clamped down, twitching and writhing with spectacular eroticism. Her insides were hot and supremely soft; even softer than her perfect skin.

The young girl rested on his leg, and couldn’t control her body. She rocked her hips involuntarily, rubbing her crotch against his leg, friction on her child pussy, her breathing now heavy enough to produce coos. The feeling of having a petite 9-year-old against him, engrossed in pleasure as he played with her arsehole, was indescribable. He’d been with small partners before, but nothing quite like this, nothing quite as perfect.

“You’re a total buttslut,” he said, certainly no news to her.

“Mhm,” she replied, unable or unwilling to make a proper reply as she focused on her anal pleasure.

“I want you to tell me what you want me to do to you.” As he instructed her, a second finger was teasing her pucker. “I want you to be _real clear_.”

“I want—ah!” she moaned, unable to control even her voice as her crush played with her immature, forbidden body and her dirtiest hole. “I want you to fuck my preteen shitter. I want… I want your cock all the way inside me, so deep that your balls hit against me!”

He inserted a second finger and immediately started stretching her. He pulled her anus from both ends and spread it as far as it could go. Then, when there was no more strength in him, he shoved in a third finger, and a fourth, and repeated the process. Ayla’s coos grew louder, and her grinding more pronounced, as she revelled in the things he did to her arsehole. Her colon was twitching, trying to close up, mixing up her fluids up and making lewd sounds.

“I want you to fuck my intestines with everything you’ve got, even though I’m only a little girl, even though that’s where poop comes from… Please use my butt like it’s a pussy and don’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

Even with all the things he’d heard, Jayden was taken aback by her vulgarity. He didn’t think it was possible for a woman to be so raw with her sexuality, as opposed to acting it out on the set, and Ayla wasn’t even a proper woman—she was 9! Somehow, that made it all the more arousing for him, knowing that such a young girl could be so irredeemably debauched; that instead of playing with her dolls with the other children, she was playing with her turd cutter.

Perhaps this was the gift of shamelessness: to be able to speak your mind without fear of reprisal, no need to appeal to a governing body or to public decency. Only pure, undiluted human passion.

He lay her aside so he could get up, then he turned around, knelt, and prepared to worship her godlike arse. He spread her buttocks without having to remove her underwear, revealing her true fuckhole, the orifice he’d lusted after for so long. It truly was an arsehole worthy of an anal queen: stretchy and unnaturally large, her twitching gape was surrounded by puckered flesh from her tailbone to the edge of her unused pussy. No wonder he could easily make out her arsehole in her photos!

He dove in without second thoughts, licking her wrinkly light pink flesh and indulging in her taste. He couldn’t sample more of her if he cannibalised her; he was savouring her kinkiest, most private part, the unmistakable saltiness of her sweat, her soft yet textured skin, without a hint of a hair to be found on the prepubescent child. He traced circles around her entrance, making sure there wasn’t a fraction of a surface he hadn’t licked. He could feel her skin moving, her anus winking, and when he couldn’t resist the temptation any longer, he stuck his tongue inside.

“Mm!” Ayla moaned, losing herself in the anal stimulation. Jayden was more than old enough to be her dad, and yet he didn’t hesitate one bit to satisfy her. Most men wouldn’t be able to look past her age, even if they could overlook her fetish and the disgusting state of her shitter, but not only was he not discouraged, he seemed to like her more because of them.

She wasn’t dumb; she knew how people looked at her, knew what thoughts they thought in their most private moments, when no busybody could see. She knew the things they wanted to do to her deep inside, in their basest, darkest parts, and she would have been happy to oblige them if only they were men enough to admit it: admit they wanted to fuck a 9-year-old quarter-Asian girl, even if that made them paedophiles and child rapists, even if it was revolting. Out of all those thousands of people, it was only Jayden that put himself forward. It was only appropriate; after all, he was this country’s biggest man, the man she was thinking of and preparing for all this time.

Jayden licked around her rectum, enjoying her softness, her warmth, and her moisture; though it wouldn’t suffice for penetration, he was surprised by how self-lubricating her colon was. It was clear she’d gone to great lengths to clean herself, though there was still no masking the taste and the smell of her guts, an otherwise putrid sensation that he had very much grown to love. Her sphincter opened and closed under his touch, massaging what little of his tongue he could get inside.

He could never get enough of those twitches. Making love to a woman’s arsehole was like being in touch with her hidden, perverted self, every involuntary motion a tale of her true emotions, unaffected by stigma, dishonesty, and masks. Make-up, fragrances, rationalisations, and all the petty tricks in the world couldn’t get in the way. If there was anything like true connection, a bond between souls, this was it: humanity at its dirtiest and most raw. Everybody he knew, from authorities to his very closest friends and family, would call him a degenerate and an abuser if they knew, but they weren’t the ones on a direct line with her heart, bombarded by pleas to keep going, to do more, to savage her prepubescent poop chute. No, the true abuser would be the one who would deny her butthole the filling it was craving.

It was time for them to do the deed. It pained him, but he had to stop kissing her bowels, even though his tongue felt a little sore from the act. He began undressing, and so did she, though she didn’t have much to remove in the first place. He looked around and placed his clothes where he could easily find them in an emergency, catching a bottle of coconut oil inconspicuously placed on the table; Jess had prepared more than just cameras at least, and it would definitely be required for what would transpire.

Ayla’s fully nude form was before him, better than the angels themselves. Baby smooth and petite everywhere, but with feminine hips and a bubble butt, she was paradox personified. Flat as an ironing board, yet more attractive than the most ballooning tits. An immature child, and precisely why she needed no help to exude youth. Only 9 years old, yet an unabashed anal whore, self-aware enough to settle for nothing less than the most horse hung porn star.

She raised her butt, rocked it a little, then spread it for Jayden’s ease. The contrast between her whorish arsehole and her immaculate pussy was almost comedic: below, an untouched, perfectly smooth fourth-grader’s vulva; above, a gaping, depraved maw of an arse. It felt wrong to ignore such spotless female genitals in favour of her destroyed defecation organ, like the ultimate betrayal to his mammalian ancestry and his lineage, and it made him more aroused.

“Your arse is as dirty as your mouth,” Jayden said, as he flipped the bottle of lube over and poured it slowly, carefully inside her rectum. “I haven’t seen anything prettier or more perfect.”

“Ah!” she said, shivering to the sensation of the cold fluid mixing around her intestinal walls. “T-thanks.”

“If I knew how much I’d like you, I wouldn’t have settled for lesser women.” He stopped pouring oil in her arsehole, and set the bottle on the couch, close enough to find easily in case more was needed. He got closer to her, inserting his cock between her thighs, and kept going until their groins touched, giving her an impression of how deep the insertion would be if he dared fuck her balls deep. Even her thighs were silky smooth, flawless in their preteen tenderness, pleasing him more than any orifice of a reptilian old hag pretending to be in her prime. One was rocketing towards menopause, the other hadn’t even had menarche; the superior female was obvious now.

He arched forward, drawing closer to her ear. “Do you know know big this is? Do you feel how deep it will go?” He put his hand under his cock, pressing it against her body, and stroking her skin along its length.

“A foot long and three inches across,” she said, reciting his bio and statistics from the company’s website. She was unable to hide her lust, her desire to have something that that big inside her kiddy body, her fourth-grader shitpipe. His penis was almost a quarter of her full height, reaching up to her lower chest, through her pelvis and abdomen. “It’s so big, I… Ah!”

When he reached the tip, Jayden switched targets and groped her flat chest, grabbing onto any hint of fat tissue of her undeveloped body, taking the girl by surprise. “Maybe you’ll die if I impale you that deep. A child of 9, killed by too much black cock in her arse.” Ayla exhaled deeply, and pressed her hips harder and harder against Jayden’s body, stimulating the monster between her thighs as he played with her nipples.

His monstercock was no match for her scrawny little arms; he was as thick as her leg and almost as long. Normal, grown up women bulged visibly if he fucked them deep enough; she would have a couple inches’ worth of distension running up to her chest, making her look disturbingly pregnant, and not even from the right hole. A fitting state for someone like her if he ever saw one.

“Put it in me,” she said, almost desperate in her begging. “I’m a bad girl. I’ve been trying to seduce older men for years. Please, teach me not to mess with adults by punishing my arsehole with a full foot of cock. I don’t care if it breaks me, even if you have to poke a new hole through my guts. Fuck my shitbox. Fuck it! Fuck it!”

He didn’t have the heart to postpone fulfilling the girl’s requests any longer. If he kept teasing her, she might lose her head, at least more than she already had. He pulled out of the flesh pocket of her thighs, even though he’d love nothing more than to thrust his cock between them and her pussy until he climaxed. He reached for the lube, applied it on his cock, and stroked to spread it over his length.

There was a number of things that had got him thinking. Like, for example, Ayla’s clothes, the level of preparedness, the likelihood of it all. It didn’t feel like the work of an amateur, no matter how well-read, intelligent, or precocious she was. And then he thought about how this came about, how he had her Instagram forced on him, or how quickly they’d gone from that to having sex.

He felt like a terrible person for thinking it, but could Jess have been preparing for this for a long time? Could Ayla have been groomed from a young age, just to prepare her for his footlong black cock, or maybe someone else’s cock? Maybe Jess hadn’t left the house at all, but was hiding somewhere, silent, playing with herself as she lived her darkest fantasy out through her daughter, getting off to the sight of an 9-year-old’s anal defloration.

These were all things Jayden didn’t know, couldn’t know, perhaps forever. There were things he was sure of, though, like his lust for the child’s body, and her lust for his. He pushed against her anus; “Ah!” exclaimed Ayla. Even as loose and lubricated as she was, stretching three inches wide wasn’t going to be easy. Still, Jayden wasn’t quick to give up. He endured social stigma, government repression, and the shame of his sexuality; a little kid’s anus would prove no match.

He put his hands on her butt to help spread her arsehole. Slowly, methodically, he pressed against her entrance and slowly stretched it, kept stretching it to its presumed limits, then stretched it even beyond that. Ayla’s breathing was heavy, laboured, and—he couldn’t deny it—so was his. It was difficult, but he got some of his shaft inside.

“It’s in,” he announced, not without a little bit of pride. “You’re so tight.” It was true; she was gripping him as if trying to strangle him. A little bit more and she might crush his organ inside of her.

“Keep going,” she said, not that he was planning on anything different. He pushed, trying to shove more of his shaft in her rectum. Her cavern was drenched and hot, coiling around him as if to milk him. As he fit more of himself in her, he welcomed her warmth, the perfect temperature for copulation.

It wasn’t long before he’d bottomed out in her rectum, but he wasn’t anywhere close to the balls-deep penetration she so desired, and, deep down, in the darkest reaches of his psyche, so did he. A sensible person would’ve stopped here, worried about his partner’s comfort and safety, especially if they were fucking a preteen. However, that part of him—the senseless, sadistic part—wanted to know what would happen if he got it all inside of her. Would Ayla actually die in his arms, or would she achieve some special of ecstasy? Would she be so aroused she’d experience enlightenment? He had to know. He was going to know.

So he kept pushing. Inch after agonising inch, paced by Ayla’s breaths, Ayla’s hum, Ayla’s moans, pain and pleasure intertwining. He could feel the war inside her through the spasms of her intestines; tightening around him in pleasure, trying to bar him entry, or opening up for him, all in rapid succession, without rhyme or reason. He made his way through her digestive tract, through her nasty shitting pipe, impaling her with his turgid extremity, shoving ungodly volumes of cock inside the grade-schooler’s arsehole.

At some point the girl’s legs began feeling week, so he placed a hand under her to help lighten the weight. Inadvertently, he also felt the growing distension on her belly, the proof of having something ridiculously large inside her petite baby frame. That had to be the single most arousing thing Jayden had ever experienced, the knowledge of disfiguring a prepubescent child’s perfect body, visibly changing its shape with the impossibility of the penetration. If the police arrived right this second and shot him in the head, he wouldn’t mind it, because at least he got to experience something this magnificent, this incandescent.

He pushed inside with renewed fervour, almost an obsession to see the act through. It was something more than feeling good or fulfilling a promise now; it was about the universe being _right_. He would see it through, even if it hurt him, and so he kept pushing. He lost awareness of everything else; just the feeling of her intestinal walls around his cock and the feeling of her swelling belly. When he bottomed out, he didn’t understand where the time had gone.

“It’s… inside…,” Ayla pointed out between strained breaths. She lowered one of her hands to her abdomen, tracing the unnatural bulge across its length and beyond, jutting out a couple of inches, and wider than that. It had happened: she had a foot of black cock in her arsehole, she had something as large as her foot buried inside her, and it felt _wonderful_.

“You feel like heaven,” Jayden said, getting closer to her, petting her with his hands. “Like your shithole was made for my cock, like it was made for me to fuck.”

“Yesss…,” she hissed, protracting the consonant as if to signal her arousal. “Yes, fuck me, fuck my arsehole, fuck me till I faint.”

Jayden made a couple of experimental, short thrusts, summoning “oh”s and “ah”s from the child. Oh, he was going to fuck her, alright; he was going to rape her arsehole harder than anything else he’d touched. Pale flesh against dark; a midget against a giant; an infertile waif with an anal cock-pregnancy. Now that he’d known the pleasures of an angel, he could do nothing but fuck her.

He pulled all the way out, her arsehole clinging onto him and refusing to let go, her flesh getting pulled out, red, inflamed, and raw. Fluids dropped on the couch, a mix of his precome, the lube, and her arse juice; they sounded disgusting, and smelled even worse. His cock felt cold against the air, begging to be back inside. The sensations of underage sodomy, the ruination of a preteen girl’s shitter.

He pushed back in, a process much simpler, since her colon didn’t have time to readjust, though he did not rush by any means. “Yes!” Ayla yelled, feeling her belly flatten and bulge in quick succession. The same tightness, wetness, and warmth nourished him, showing him evidence of his true belonging, but he didn’t stay long. Once again, he pulled out, dragging some of her rectum along with him.

He increased the pace with each repetition, increasing his own pleasure in the process. Her velvety walls couldn’t protest any longer, Ayla herself losing sight of everything but her glee. He could feel her heartbeat through her meat; fast, furious, and unrelenting. His testicles were smashing against her unused, puffy pussy, the smacks of one’s skin against the other’s like the highest symphony, the soundtrack to their anal union.

There was no denying it now: he was fucking a child, and he was enjoying it. It didn’t bother him in the slightest, even though it went everything he believed in just a month ago. In fact, somehow, he was proud of it. He thought of all the men who’d kill to do what he was doing, and thought of all those who were too ashamed to admit it. He thought of everyone who gazed upon Ayla and saw a sexless, agender blob, instead of a stunning nymphette in peak sexual condition. He thought of how they lied to themselves, pretending to detest youth and virility, as if anyone ever got off to the thought of fucking his grandmother. He thought how poorer their lives were, being blind to these wonders.

Ayla didn’t have the strength to keep any part of her body in position, so he picked her up, turned her around, and placed her on the couch, on her back, where he could go to work. He raised her right leg to his face, grabbing on her heavenly smooth calf, kissing it, kissing her ankle, her sole. She laughed, feeling ticklish. Every part of her was perfect and erotic, from her eyebrows to her toenails. He was lucky to touch any part of her, let alone orgasm with his touch.

He could feel her colon milking him, begging him to continue sodomising her, and he obliged. He put his hands under her butt for leverage and started thrusting again, picking up a pace, his motions growing wider and wilder. He could see it directly now, the distortion on her belly, the bulging flesh reach all the way to the lower part of her chest, the visible evidence of having almost a litre and a half of bulging manhood inside her illegally young crapper, a tumour marring her supreme neonate innocence with paedophilic repugnance.

“You’re pulling my arse out!” she yelled, not in protest, but in pride and twisted desire. “You’re gonna destroy my arsehole!” And yes, yes he was: a ring of bright red flesh followed him whenever he exited her, and was forced inside when he cuddled up in her poop chute. It was a sight to behold, a child’s arsehole flirting dangerously close to prolapse, and a colour that went great against his dark pole.

He was fucking her in the missionary position, or rather a depraved imitation of it. Instead of bedding a woman on her wedding night to procreate, he was fucking a prepubescent girl he just met in her butt, with no hopes of pregnancy even if he was penetrating the correct orifice. In fact, the closest thing to it was the outline of his cock on her belly.

Their anal coupling was truly a thing to behold. Her deformed body, her flat chest, the expression of unadulterated lust on her face; they only made him want to fuck her harder. She found the strength to wrap her legs around him, locking him in place, as if it wasn’t clear that she wanted her arsehole ruined. He rammed his dick inside her, pushing her deeper into orgasmic bliss.

He was holding her against the furniture and fucking her like she was a thing, like the only thing of note on her was her arsehole. It was singing him a lullaby of her fluids being mixed and their groins smacking up against each other. He fucked her deeper and harder, reshaping her insides into his personal cocksleeve, fucking her more thoroughly than any man she’d ever meet, so completely he was deforming her soul as well. 

Ayla’s childish pussy decorated her crotch, but was untouched. Still, she was gushing arousal that trickled down to her arsehole to ease its pulling and pushing and stretching, or splashed on Jayden’s stomach. Her eyes were watering from the intensity of her sensations, although she was already too far gone to pay attention to stimuli beyond his cock. He was filling her up in ways she didn’t think were possible, carving a hole in her and making her _whole_ , like she had only lived a half life and now she was complete.

“Ah, I-I can’t… I’m…!” she tried to say, but her mouth wasn’t hers to control. She broke the lock around Jayden as she stretched her legs, curled her toes and climaxed. He was so thick he was pressing up against her cervix and womb, even her bladder. She lost control of her functions and squirted against him, both with vaginal fluids and piss.

Jayden was pummelling her like a jackhammer as she soiled herself, elevating her already mind-rending orgasm. He took delight on how she dirtied their intercourse further, how much she enjoyed getting her arsehole destroyed by a black giant before her age was even in the double digits. He was surrounded by her bowels, her screams, her anal spatter and convulsions and the degenerate stench of her intestinal love.

He came inside her, right in the organ that processed her shit, inside a 9-year-old’s large intestine. He emptied his balls inside her and let his semen soak her guts, pointlessly searching for an egg to fertilise in her waste pipe. He bent down and kissed her; a sloppy, inelegant kiss, with spit everywhere and a chaotic dance of tongues. He orgasmed as she had, enchanted by her shitter, the best hole he’d ever fucked, a hole too good for this world. Thousands would line up to fuck her, even for sloppy seconds, but he was the only one to dump his load inside of her, the only one chosen to climax inside that arse.

The pumping came to a stop, their arousal finally dropping down and letting them rest. They lay like that, breathing heavily from the exertion of their bonding, their bodies still one as Jayden’s cock softened inside her. His large body rested against hers, an adult atop a child, a sex offender and a victim. They explored each other’s bodies, exotic in their differences, needing no words to share their thoughts.

She’d get him to inflict even more unspeakable horrors on her body, and he’d enact them happily, because she was his precocious preteen, and he was her paedophile. Jess would be pleased with their work, even as her greatest productions were yet to be filmed.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know all the best English words are actually French loanwords? If I set my spellchecker to French, there's fewer squiggly red lines littering my high production standards cerebral paedo smut than if it's trying to make sense of my obscure Franco-Hellenic plus English prepositions fusion lexicon that comes across like I've read the thesaurus cover to cover cause I've nothing better to do with my life, which is strange indeed considering I flunked French in middle school. Il est temps d'apprendre à parler français.
> 
> The above paragraph is a joke because everybody knows I abuse Latin way more than French. I didn't flunk that because I didn't take it in the first place.


End file.
